Learn To Be Loved
by mamaXunicorn
Summary: My take on what should have happened during the 'All I Ask Of You' scene.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Okay this is idea was my friends:**__**Summergirl0ox**__**: So Yea. So I'm writing this in dedication to her!!!**_

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He stepped out from behind the statue. He spied the red rose that had fallen to the white ground. That was the only thing he could see as Christine's and the Vicomte's voices echoed in his head.

The snow crunched softly beneath his feet as he approached the discarded flower. He lowered himself to the ground slowly, his heart aching, and picked up the rose.

He stared at it as he subconsciously started shaking. In all his life, through all the trials and hardships and betrayals he has been through, this one hurt the most. Even more so than his mother.

After all he had done for her, after he gave her everything, she ran to someone else. He couldn't help the tears that welled up in his eyes.

_I gave you my music..._

_Made your song take wing…._

_And now_

_How you've repaid me_

_Denied me and betrayed me…_

He should have known. He had planned on making Christine a star to see her happy, to make her known, and that's exactly what he got. The Vicomte heard her sing and immediately pursued her. But what infuriated him the most was that the Vicomte only noticed her when she was that star, when she was just a ballet dancer; it was like she didn't exist. But he noticed her right away, how beautiful and how talented she was.

_He was bound to love you…_

_When he heard you sing…_

_Christine…_

His jaw quivered. He lifted the rose to his face and held it there and quietly started to sob. He didn't like to show emotions, they felt it made him weak. But he felt weak, he felt he had hit rock bottom and it hurt. The fall was abrupt and very painful and he didn't care.

This was it. She was gone. He had lost. He bowed his head in defeat and only cried some more into the rose. The rose he had always presented to her after a rehearsal well done, and as her career was progressing, a performance well done, a symbol to show her angel, her protector was watching over her and cared about her. And she tossed it to the ground like a piece of garbage.

He shut his eyes tightly not wanting to reopen them again and face the cruel, harsh world, where he was convinced every one hated him.

And then, as light as a feather, he felt a touch to his shoulder.

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Christine walked down the steps she had just traveled up minutes ago, her hand secure in Raoul's. The buzz of Buquet's murder still loomed the Opera House. She was frightened, there was no doubt about that, never had she ever wanted to see a murder. And it was the only the fact that it was the phantom that did it that only made it worse. The phantom, she had come to realize, was her angel, which truly wasn't an angel at all, nor a phantom. He was a man.

As she thought about it there was no actual proof that the phantom had killed Buquet except of course, for his trade mark noose. But there were ropes above stage. It could have been an accident.

Her free hand felt strangely empty and she glanced down at it quickly and found that the rose she was carrying was no longer there. She must have dropped it on the roof.

She abruptly stopped and Raoul turned and glanced at her questionably.

"I forgot something on the roof." She elaborated.

"I will get it for you." Raoul said.

Christine shook her head. "No…it's fine. I will get it myself. You wait here."

Raoul stared at her skeptically. He didn't want her to leave his sight. She smiled at him reassuringly. "I will only be a minute." She kissed his cheek and let go of his hand and turned up the other way.

As she neared the entrance to the roof, she slowed as she heard something peculiar. A man's voice. _His_ voice. She paused near the door to listen.

…_made your song take wing_

_And now how you've repaid me_

_Denied me and betrayed me…_

His voice sounded choked up like he was…crying. Was he talking about her? She slowly and quietly pushed the door open and saw the side of him kneeled over, clutching the rose to him.

He raised his head slightly and she could see the tears in his eyes even from where she stood. He was crying. He was crying over her. The phantom, sat there, hurt. She broke his heart. All negative feelings she had had toward him about the earlier evening events had suddenly vanished into nothing as she stood there watching this man pour his heart out.

_He was bound to love you_

_When he heard you sing_

_Christine…._

Her eyes watered as his voice cracked with heavy emotion and he closed his eyes and started to sob into the rose. She didn't know what to do.

Normally, she would have just left, but she couldn't leave. She couldn't bring herself to just leave him there. She suddenly had a surge of courage and slowly made her way over to him.

She knelt down beside him never taking her eyes off him and the fact that he hadn't moved gave away that he didn't know she was there. She hesitantly reached out to him. She paused a second not knowing whether she should touch him for the last time she did, he got terribly angry. But she decided to and she continued on and her hand gently brushed against his shoulder. At first she didn't think he had felt it but then she felt his whole body tense under her finger tips.

His whole body tensed. Someone was there. Someone was near him. He gritted his teeth together and started to breath heavily. Whoever was there had to have seen him in his vulnerable state and he was prepared to fight back with whatever threat they possessed.

He lifted his head and was shocked to find himself staring into the face of Christine. The stern expression on his face quickly disappeared and he was left in the vulnerable state he was before. Christine's face had many emotions to it, he noticed, guilt, remorse, and general concern. Her perfect brown eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she stared at him.

As much as he wanted to look away from her, to not see the face of the one who had broken his heart, who has now seen him in a completely vulnerable state, he couldn't.

She saw out of the corner of her eyes that he was still clutching the rose tightly in his hand. She lifted her other hand and gently placed it over the one that was holding the rose. His eyes followed her hand and paused on where it rested over his.

She opened her mouth to say something and his eyes immediately flew back to her. She wanted to say 'I'm sorry' but she felt those words weren't enough. The man in front of her was broken. And now, she finally realized that he really wasn't the angel or the phantom, he was a man. A lonely, broken, man and that he had feelings. And because of his face he had been ridiculed and looked down upon by others and everything he did, everything he's ever done was just to protect himself. And…he loved her.

She let out a breath and closed her mouth, letting her head fall.

He took the opportunity to break the silence and tried to say as seriously as he could, "What are you doing here?" He didn't say it harshly for he didn't mean it harshly. She was the last person he had expected to see especially because of the whole scene that had just happened with Raoul.

She slowly raised her head back up to meet his gaze. "I forgot the rose." She said softly.

He slowly rose to his feet and she followed after him. He extended his hand towards her with the rose. She took it from his hand and brought it to her chest.

He nodded slightly, after composing himself and turned to leave.

She didn't want him to leave just yet. "Wait." She called out into the darkness and he stopped but did not turn.

She didn't know what to say to him. What do you say to the man you have just broken the heart of and think you might possibly still have feelings for? "Don't leave."

"I believe your Vicomte is waiting for you." His crisp, deep voice echoed in the night.

Christine looked at the open door, which was the only source of light illuminating the snowy roof, where she knew Raoul was waiting for her. But at that moment she didn't care.

She approached him silently and stood in front of him. She looked up at him and noticed that he was avoiding her gaze.

"I didn't want to hurt you Christine." He muttered.

She was bewildered and shook her head. "But it was I who hurt you. And for that I am truly sorry." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling a chill from the cold air. "I heard what you said. You are right, you have given me everything and I have given you nothing in return but pain. I suppose I was frightened and I ran to Raoul blindly. I know I have hurt you and I do hope you can forgive me."

He was silent. He wanted to believe her. He really, really wanted to believe her. Her eyes were pleading with him. She waited in anticipation while he stood there motionless. The snow fell lightly and sprinkled white dust on his dark hair and black cape.

She took a bold move and rested her hand on his cheek and turned his head lightly to look at her. Their eyes met and she could see the emotion in them. All the hurt he received over the years, all the hate he had for the world around him, the loneliness he felt, all the love he had for her, it was all right there in those two beautiful blue-green orbs.

For the time being the pair was lost in each other. Christine had forgotten about the cold weather and he had forgotten the world. She noticed the doubt he held in his eyes and she smiled at him to reassure him that it was alright.

But their perfect moment was suddenly ruined.

"Christine!" Raoul's voice traveled up to the roof. And it only got louder and louder which meant he was getting closer.

Erik snapped out of his dreamlike state and was quickly aware of what was happening around him. He knew it was too good to be true. He started to head off.

Christine glanced between the open door and the disappearing figure of her mysterious tutor. She didn't want him to leave and she surely didn't want to face Raoul at the moment. She heard Raoul's voice like it was right near the door and rushed over to Erik. "Take me with you."

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	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: WOW. I'm sorry. I haven't updated in almost a year! I am so sorry! I got a new computer and this story was on my old computer and I hadn't checked my old computer until recently and then I saw what little I had written of the next chapter and decided to finish it! Also I did get out of my POTO obsession for a little while but now I'm getting back into it so I've actually had inspiration. Anyway. I hope you like this chapter and I know I don't deserve it but review please!

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Erik looked over his shoulder to where Christine was following close behind him. After Christine had asked him to take her with him, he took one look at her beautiful, pleading face and couldn't say no. He didn't say a word only motioned for her to come along with his head. He led her through a secret door on the roof that only he knew about and through the secret passageways.

He heard the Vicomte's voice reach the roof and call for Christine and he looked back at Christine to see if she had changed her mind. But she didn't look back nor have any signs of regret on her face. She caught him looking at her and a small smile slowly spread across her face. He made no response only turned forward again.

He couldn't believe it Christine was actually with him, she actually asked to go with him, and she smiled at him. She smiled at him. And it wasn't a fake smile either, it was one he had seen her give the Vicomte or Meg. One that she gave to those she loved.

Could she possibly…?

No. He couldn't let himself hope. He had done it so much in the past and then was disappointed in the end. He couldn't take another heart break. So the solution was to not make of anything of it. He couldn't get hurt that way.

Christine followed close behind her masked angel as he led her off the roof through a secret doorway. The pathway was dark, the only thing that was leading her was the white of his mask.

He was quiet so she was quiet. He was always the one to initiate the conversation and if he didn't want to talk than he wouldn't. And knowing his temper, she didn't want to upset him by talking to him. Not that she had much to say anyway.

Soon they had reached a more illuminated hallway. One she almost recognized, like she had seen it in a dream. The candelabras on the wall were burning and dimly lit the dark room. She could now see the whole outline of him and the other side of his face.

It was stony and cold. Almost like he was trying to block out some emotions. It was so unlike the first time she walked down this hallway with him. He constantly turned to look back at her and there was such intense emotion in his eyes. She was mesmerized by it; by him. It felt like a dream.

But this time was so very real. She was fully aware of what was going on around her.

Once, he turned to look over his shoulder at her and she offered him a smile. She had to show him she was not scared of him after all even though a part of her was. He was very intimidating. Not at all like Raoul. But there was something about him that Raoul didn't have. Mystery. When she was with Raoul her heart didn't beat so fast. Her angel, "The Phantom", was so dark, so brooding. Where as Raoul brought light every where he went. But Raoul didn't have passion where as he did. Raoul was so much like he was when they were children, playful and loving. He wasn't like The Phantom where in every word he spoke, every note he sang to her, she could feel the passion, feel how much he cared for her.

She saw a flicker of emotion pass his face as he turned to face forward again but it was gone as soon as it appeared. It was so fast she couldn't decide what the emotion had been. She couldn't even begin to think about what he might be thinking. He was so quiet, it made her a little nervous.

She continued to follow him down the passageways. It was longer than she remembered. Another thing that she didn't remember was that the hallways were very damp and cold. As cold as the weather outside was.

He probably didn't notice, she concluded. He had lived down there for so long and he was dressed rather warmly as well. But her light dress and light coat did not protect her from the cold.

She looked down at her hands that were closed tightly around the rose. They were pale white and cold. She brought her hands closer to her body to try and get them warmer.

They came to a spiraled staircase that appeared never ending. She swallowed softly and bravely lowered herself onto the first step. But it was loose and she felt her body start to wobble. She gasped and reached out for something to grab on to. She hadn't realized what it was until she felt it tense under her grip. She looked up and saw that she had her arms tightly wound around his upper arm. She could feel the thick muscles and the heat that radiated from him felt wonderful against her cold body. She slowly and bravely looked up to his face and saw that he was looking down at her. His face was emotionless but his eyes were not. She found herself getting lost in his eyes, they were comforting. Something she hadn't expected from him. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she should be scared. The last time she touched him he got incredibly angry. But he didn't look angry now.

She eventually let go of his arm and whispered an apology turning her gaze to the floor. She looked up at him through her eye lashes. He didn't answer her, only narrowed his eyes slightly for a quick second and then turned back around.

She brought her arms back around her chest. Maybe he was angry…

He started walking again and she followed him. They went flight after silent flight. She didn't focus on him but instead on the floor.

Her head snapped up and her eyes widened when he suddenly swung out his arm in front of her, holding her back. What had she done to upset him?

"Careful of this step." His deep voice broke through the silence. She cast a curious glance up at him. His hand moved out from under his cloak, palm up, inviting her to take it. She slipped her hand into his gloved hand and let him guide her over the step.

Once both her feet were safely planted, he released her hand and she instantly missed the contact. She cast a glance over at the step he didn't want her to step on. She didn't see anything wrong with it.

A dark chuckle filled the air and she turned back to look at him. A small smirk played across his lips.

"It's a trap door." He explained.

Her eyes widened slightly. "A trap door?" She repeated in a near whisper.

He nodded once. "Yes. Many people have tried to find me over the years. I could not let them succeed."

Her eyes slowly drifted back to the step. She imagined stage hands and members of the ballet wandering down this dark staircase and suddenly having the floor disappear from under them as they fell helplessly to their demise. She shuddered quietly.

"Come. Let us continue." His voice was cold again and he quickly whirled around and started forward again.

The area suddenly seemed so much more quiet. She could hear his shoes clicking against the stone with every quick step he took. She could hear her own pounding heart and her deep, even breathing.

When he started to fade into the darkness she realized she still hadn't moved from her spot. Her eyes widened slightly and she ran to catch up to him.

They soon arrived at the underground lake and just like before the gondola was waiting for them. He carefully stepped in and then helped her in.

She observed her surroundings as he pushed the small boat through the water. Everything seemed so different. Less bright and more creepy. He obviously wasn't expecting her.

She frowned when she realized how lonely he must be. He lived in the catacombs of the glorious Opera Populaire, constantly surrounded only by damp, gray, rock walls.

The portcullis was slowly rising by the time it came into view and her eyes fell upon his lair as they got closer and closer to the shore. It was exactly how she remembered it minus a few candelabras.

She felt and heard the gondola skid onto the shore and he stepped out. As he did so she suddenly had a flashback to the last time she was down there. She could remember his smooth, melodic voice charming her in song.

'...the music of the night...'

How she longed to hear his sweet voice again. But he was still deathly quiet. She watched him walk across the shore and up the small set of stairs where his organ rested.

Perhaps he would play her a song. She smiled, she liked the sound of that. She had only heard him play once before but his talent on the piano was just as great as his singing ability.

But to her disappointment he simply stopped in front of the organ, his back facing her with his hands folded behind his back.

She slowly rose to her feet and hesitated for a moment to step out of the boat. She stepped onto the shore and felt the pebbles crunching underneath her shoes.

She slowly started to walk forward and looked around. Among the red curtains hanging from the walls there were paintings and drawings all of her. She felt an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't recalled them from the last time she was down there. She remembered the life sized manikin that he kept of her, how could she forget that? As flattering as it was it was also a little unsettling. She admired him for being such a great artist but there was just too much of her. It was like she consumed his every thought, his every waking moment.

She stopped in front of one of the large candelabras in the center of the room. She reached out and brushed her fingertips against the cool metal. Each separate holder had its own design, she noticed. Had he made those too?

She dropped her arm to her side and continued to look around. Without him singing to her she could fully focus on the contents of the place in which he lived.

She noticed several model heads with several different masks on each one. There was a half faced black one, a full black one and a full white one. She extended her hand towards them but hesitated. She didn't want to upset him.

She threw a careful glance over her shoulder at him to see that he hadn't moved an inch. His eyes were solely focused on the wall in front of him.

With a spark of courage she gently brushed her hand against the full white one. The porcelain was cool and smooth under her fingertips. She traced her finger tips over the eye holes and the shape of the nose.

Her thoughts were instantly drawn to what was under the mask he wore. She had only seen it for a split second before he started to lash out in anger. The marred and scarred side of his face was surprising yes but not so frightening. Even though she had told Raoul differently. She had a sharp intake of breath and her hand flew to her chest. Oh how awful she was to say such things about him. She was frightened at that moment in time and she had been incredibly flustered with all the talk of the Phantom of The Opera. She felt a pang of regret and guilt when she realized that he had been on the roof and he had heard every word she had said about him. Oh no wonder he was so distant. He thought she despised him.

'Raoul, I've seen him can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face so distorted, deformed it was hardly a face in the darkness...'

Oh how cruel she was.

She dropped her hand from the mask and turned around to face him. Again, he had not moved.

She bravely started forward up the steps and towards him. He was so still, if she hadn't know any better she would say he was a statue. But as she drew near she could see the slow rising and falling of his chest as he breathed.

Once she was next to him, she wanted to speak to him but words failed her. What could she say to him? So instead she only stood in silence.

Minutes passed by agonizingly slow. She wanted him to say something or to move. She wanted him to look at her. She wanted his piercing eyes boring into hers.

She took a deep breath and finally spoke, "Angel?"

For a moment he did not respond and she considered that he had not heard her. She opened her mouth to speak again when his soft voice cut her off.

"Yes Christine?"

Her heart involuntarily fluttered at the sound of his voice speaking her name.

She glanced down at the organ. They looked like they were yearning to be played. "Can you play for me?"

He slowly inched his head towards her and she glanced up at him hopefully. She noticed his lips twitch but they did not continue to form a smile.

"Of course." He responded and motioned for her to sit down. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bench. She watched him take off his cloak and gloves and set them neatly down on top of the organ. He took a seat next to her. The bench was so small that the sides of their bodies touched. He stretched out his long fingers and then placed them over the ivory keys.

He started out slow and the music seemed to surround her. What he was playing was simple yet beautiful. It touched every part of her.

And then it started to pick up speed and get more complicated. His hands flew across the keys, so fast and so swiftly that to her they were a blur. And yet every note was perfect there was not one wrong note in his playing. Not even the pianist in M. Reyer's orchestra was as talented.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she let herself get lost in his music. Every note was embedded into her brain and it was so soothing that she could feel herself start to drift off. She hadn't realized how tired she was until that moment.

She let a smile cross her lips and her head grew heavy. It automatically started to fall to the right and landed on something hard yet soft. Her eyes cracked open a speck to find herself leaning against his shoulder. She let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes again.

His whole body went tense when he felt her head land on his shoulder however, his playing never faltered. He stole a quick glance down at her. Her eyes were closed, her face was peaceful and she was even smiling.

At her smile, he couldn't resist a small smile of his own. He closed his own eyes and let the music take over. What he was playing was one of his own compositions, one he had committed to memory, one of the many he had written for the beauty currently sitting next to him.

The song he had chosen to play was one of his longer pieces. He chose that for one sole purpose. If nothing else connected him and Christine there was always music. He would get lost in the world of music when he played. The world where nothing hurt and with Christine at his side it only made things better.

The song slowed down once more as it came to a closing. His fingers brushed across the keys and they remained on the last note until it had faded away into nothing.

He slid his fingers off the keys and onto his lap. He waited patiently for quite a few moments to see if Christine would make any movement or say anything in response.

When she did not he prompted her, "Christine?"

Not a word. He looked down at her and noticed her deep and even breathing. She had fallen asleep.

With good reason, he admitted. She had been through too much that night.

And he couldn't wake her, there was no way he could. He carefully shifted his position and slipped his arms around her. With little difficulty he scooped her up into his arms and rose to his feet. She moved in his arms and he watched her carefully, hoping that she would not awaken. To his relief, she only let out a little noise and snuggled her face into his chest.

His heart rate took off like a rocket with that small action. He couldn't believe Christine was actually willing to be this close to him. And at the smile on her face he guessed that she was perfectly content to be where she was. She was comfortable being around him.

He could have stood there and watched her sleep for hours but his arms were starting to grow a little tired. He reluctantly tore his gaze away from her face and started towards the bedroom.

He laid her down gently onto the swan bed just as he had done not too long before. He brushed his hand gently across her cheek and she leaned into his touch.

The flutter in his heart returned and so did the knot in his stomach. He withdrew his hand and took a step back. It was too good to be true. It had to be. As much as he had hoped Christine would never long for his touch or smile in his presence.

But as he watched her sleep, he noticed the smile on her face disappeared as soon as he had stepped away from her. And that small flicker of hope burned inside him once again.

He was suddenly brought out of his dreamlike world when he heard movement in the water. His face darkened and he moved swiftly past the dark curtain blocking Christine from the rest of the lair. From where he stood he could not see anyone in the water but the sound continued. He narrowed his eyes and moved along the wall quietly and grabbed one of his many nooses. Had he been so distracted by Christine that he did not notice someone following them? Well he would soon take care of that problem.

He stood near the edge of the lake, the noose in his hands, ready to face his intruder.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Happy New Year everybody!! Thought I'd bring in 2010 with someone Phantom goodness. Why not start the new year right huh? Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter! I have enjoyed getting your reviews and it made me happy that I still have fans of this story that haven't given up on me over the past, ahem, year and to all the new readers thank you for also reading and reviewing. Please continue to do so because I really enjoy getting reviews!! Tell me what you think of this chapter!

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Christine awoke to the sound of whispered, distant voices. Her eyes fluttered opened and she looked around her surroundings. It took a moment to remember where she was. She sat up and found herself tangled in heaps of red sheets.

The last thing she remembered was falling asleep listening to her angel playing the organ. He must have brought her to the bed once she had fallen asleep. She yawned and stretched her arms up over her head.

She tossed the sheets off of her and instantly felt a chill and shivered. She stepped off of the bed and headed towards the black material hanging from the ceiling. She was half tempted to open it but then the whispered voices hit her again and she stopped. Her angel was not alone.

"Honestly, I don't know what were you thinking Erik." An oddly familiar female voice spoke, her voice thick with a heavy french accent.

Erik?

"To be quite honest I wasn't really thinking at all." His voice responded.

"Well that's quite obvious." The female snapped and Christine pinpointed her voice.

Madame Giry?

Madame Giry often had the same tone of voice when she was lecturing her ballet dancers.

But what was she doing down in the phantom's lair? Did she know him? She always figured Madame Giry knew of her Angel of Music for she was usually the one who gave her the roses. But Christine always thought that was because she entrusted Madame Giry with the information about the Angel of Music. Not because Madame Giry knew of his secret.

"This is insane." Madame Giry's voice reprimanded. "You are insane."

"Nothing I haven't heard before." His voice bit back bitterly.

Christine pulled back the curtain just slightly to peer outside. Madame Giry had her back facing towards her with her hands on her hips and the phantom was seated at his organ bench several feet away.

"How could you do this?" Madame Giry asked, stalking forward toward him. Christine winced slightly. Didn't she know of his temper?

"After what you have done at the opera you kidnap Christine as well?" She scolded him. "The Vicomte is mad with worry over this."

He scoffed and his body shifted away from her. Madame Giry let out an exasperated sigh and walked over to stand in front of him. "I know you could care less what the Vicomte thinks or feels but you have put yourself and Christine in danger. The managers are currently trying to calm down the Vicomte but it is not long before they all come looking for you."

"They won't get very far." He replied darkly.

Madame Giry's eyes narrowed. "This was not the time to take her. The poor girl must be frightened out of her mind. If you are trying to get her to return your feelings you need to rethink you methods."

Christine felt her heart drop into her stomach as he whipped his head up. She didn't know if Madame Giry could handle one of his angry tirades.

He rose to his feet quickly and he towered over her but Madame Giry held her stern gaze firm.

"You know nothing Madame." He hissed quietly.

"I know that Christine is very young and was very frightened by what you did during Il Muto. Taking her against her will was not a very smart idea." She snapped back.

A growl like sound emitted from him and he pushed past her. He stood upright, his jaw set hard as he glared out at the lake.

Madame Giry's glare followed his actions and she crossed her arms over her chest as she spun around to face him. "Honestly did you really think that it would work?"

"If you must know Madame..." He started coldly. "I did not take Christine down here against her will."

"Is that so?" Madame Giry asked skeptically.

"Yes." He hissed quietly turning his head to look at her and then turning to face her fully. "She asked me to take her with me."

"If you expect me to believe..."

"It's true!" The words left her mouth before she could stop them. Her eyes widened slightly when both Madame Giry and Erik turned to look at her. Madame Giry had a questioning and surprised look on her face. His face was as unreadable as stone as usual.

She took a deep breathe and bravely stepped out of her room and walked over to where Madame Giry stood.

"Christine?" She questioned.

Christine held her head high and nodded. "It is true Madame Giry. I did ask him to take me with him."

"Christine," Madame Giry started, reaching out to place her hands on her shoulders gently. "If he has threatened you in any way..."

Christine noticed his eyes narrow dangerously. "You think so highly of me Madame." He remarked, dark sarcasm lacing every word.

Madame Giry let out an exasperated sigh and moved to stand next to Christine. She slipped an arm around her and held her against her side. "It's not something I would put past you."

He didn't respond, only continued to glare at her. Christine noticed a flicker of emotion besides anger flash across his face. Hurt maybe? Regret?

"He didn't." Christine quickly yet confidently spoke. His face softened just a little at her words as his eyes flickered to her. His glare disappeared and was replaced with curiosity. She stared back at him for a few moments and then turned to Madame Giry's questioning and skeptical look. "He is not keeping me down here against my will. I asked him to bring me down and that is what he did."

Madame Giry glanced back and forth between Christine and Erik a few times and then finally settled on him. His glare returned but Christine also noticed a small look of smugness to his face.

"Very well." Madame Giry spoke and turned back to Christine. "However, Christine I do think it would be wise for you to return back with me."

Christine opened her mouth to protest but then rethought. Perhaps Madame Giry was right. She said that Raoul was fraught with worry and it wouldn't be long before he came looking for her. And Christine knew that he would. She also knew that the phantom could take care of himself but she didn't want Raoul to be hurt. And she was sure that the trap door he led her over before was not the only one in existence. She shuddered at the thought of Raoul falling into one of them.

Her eyes were drawn back to the phantom. He was watching them intently, his body rigid and tense. But could she leave him? She had wanted so badly to mend the heart that she had broken. But if she left so quickly would that hurt him more?

"Yes." He agreed. "You should go Christine." His voice was still cold. Cold, yet she could hear the hurt hidden deep under it.

She felt Madame Giry tug at her arm and as she did so he turned away from them.

"Wait." She whispered to her and slid her arm out of her grasp. She didn't look at her as she slowly made her way over to him.

She knew he was aware that she was behind him by the way he held himself. "Angel?"

It took a moment for him to answer. "Yes Christine?"

"Will you come to me?" She asked quietly yet her voice was hopeful. "Later? Will you come to my dressing room?"

He cast a brief surprised look over his shoulder but then his face hardened again. "If that is what you wish."

"Yes." She whispered and a small smile crossed her lips. She hesitantly reached out, placed her hand on top of his forearm in a quick affectionate gesture, then pulled away and headed back towards Madame Giry.

They made their way into the gondola still perched on the shore. Christine settled herself down into the small boat and Madame Giry pushed off into the water. She stared at the wooden floor of the boat in silence for a few moments before she slowly looked over her shoulder.

His back was facing them so she couldn't see his face but his body was very stiff and his hands were bawling into fists at his side. Her thoughts drifted back to the rooftop. His hunched form collapsed in the snow, his shoulders shaking with sobs. His beautifully colored eyes glistening with tears. It hurt to see him hurt. She hoped that once she left he wouldn't break down again. Just the thought of it made her chest ache. She continued to watch his still form get smaller and smaller until it disappeared from view and then she let out a quiet sigh and faced forward again.

The journey back to the surface of the Opera Populaire was long and silent. Christine followed behind Madame Giry while she lead the way with a small candelabra she had picked up from the phantom's lair.

About halfway through the journey just when Christine thought she would go insane from the silence Madame Giry started to speak.

"Christine, my dear, I want the truth now."

Christine looked up at her and her eyebrows furrowed. "What I told you earlier is the truth madame. He did not kidnap me nor did he threaten me."

Madame Giry looked over her shoulder at her. "You willing went with him?"

"He did not ask me to come with him." Christine elaborated. "I asked him to take me."

"Why?" Madame Giry's voice was intensely curious.

Christine bowed her head and stared at the ground sadly. "He was so heartbroken Madame Giry." She shook her head quietly. "I just couldn't let him run away without trying to fix what I did to him."

"Christine," She sighed in exasperation, "He doesn't need your pity. He needs-"

She abruptly cut herself off and then never finished her thought. Christine glanced back up at her curiously. What did he need? After thinking about it she could only come up with one answer: love. He needed her love. The only question that arose to her mind was did she love him? She cared for him but did she love him? She honestly didn't know.

"Madame Giry," She started, inquiry in her voice, "How do you know him? You don't seem frightened of him."

Madame Giry gave her a sad smile. "That is because I am not. Nor have I ever been."

"How long have you known him?" Christine asked curiously.

"For quite a while." She responded and turned back to look at her. "Do you wish to hear the tale? It is not happy."

Christine nodded quietly in response, watching her with anxious and curious wide brown eyes.

"Very well." She sighed and stared off in front of her. "It was years ago. There was a traveling fair in the city. Gypsies. I was very young studying to be a ballerina, one of many, living in the dormitories of the Opera House. There were so many different acts of people who could bend their bodies in very strange ways. It was very vulgar, I did not enjoy it very much. A man beckoned toward us, leading us toward a tent, calling, "Come, come inside, come and see the devil's child." We all shuffled into the tent and in the middle of the tent there was a cage. In the cage there was a boy he had to be no older than ten or eleven. He had a bag over his head with only eye holes. He only had a pair of withered old pants and he was covered in dirt and he was so skinny. I had felt so bad for him. Who would put a child in a cage? I asked myself. For a second he looked at me and his eyes were so full of anguish I could feel my heart breaking on the spot. In his hands he held a stuffed monkey which had two small symbols which he was playing with.

The man running the act went into the cage, kicked the monkey out of his hands and knocked him to the ground. He grabbed a stick and started beating him. Then he grabbed him roughly from the top of bag and tore it off his head. Half of his face was deformed beyond anything I had ever seen. The boy's eyes were closed, on the good side of his face I could see the anguish and humiliation. The other girls had all started to laugh. But I could not. I could not laugh at this poor boy's misery. After a minute, the man let the boy go and he sulked away into the corner pulling the bag back up over his head. Everyone started threw coins into the cage and started to leave but I was the last one to go. I didn't want to leave him

Madame Giry paused and glanced over her shoulder at Christine. One hand was on her chest and one was over her mouth. Her wide brown eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she listened to the horrific tale.

"I heard a struggle just as I was leaving the tent," Madame Giry continued, "I thought the boy was being harmed but it was the boy attacking the man. When he was dead, the boy grabbed his monkey and looked up at me. He found the key and unlocked the cage and I wasn't the only one who had heard the struggle. The other gypsies came into the tent so I grabbed his hand and I ran as fast as I could with him towards the Opera House. The mob of angry gypsies were close at our heels. But I let him in through a secret window that led to the chapel and I went around front and met up with him to bring him somewhere safe. I hid him from the world and its cruelties. He has known nothing of life since then except this Opera House."

A single tear rolled down Christine's cheek. Well it was no wonder he hid himself in the caverns of the Opera House. He had had a terrible childhood, his deformity on display for all the world to see. And instead of helping him they laughed and beat him. How cruel the world was to such a brilliant person.

"That is horrible." She whispered. "You were the only one willing to help him."

"People do not like what they do not understand." Madame Giry stated. "He was different."

"You said they called him 'The Devil's Child'? They thought he was evil because of his appearance?"

"Yes." Madame Giry answered in a near whisper. "They did. They thought he was some sort of a demon. A monster."

"He's not a monster." Christine protested. She felt the ache in her chest again.

Another sad smile crossed Madame Giry's face. "It is good you think that Christine. He needs someone to understand him."

"You understand him." Christine answered.

"Yes." She responded. "But someone besides me. He has known me for more than half his life and he needs someone else. Someone who is not frightened of him."

"I'm not frightened of him." Christine said. "At least not his appearance." At Madame Giry's questioning look she continued, "His anger is very frightening."

Madame Giry furrowed her brow. "He has gotten angry at you?"

Christine grew sheepish and bit her lip softly. "Only because I removed his mask. I was curious as to why he wore it and he seemed so peaceful when I approached him. But he then grew terribly angry when I removed it."

"So you have seen his face?"

Christine nodded. "Only for a second but it was enough to know that I am not afraid or repulsed by him. His anger is what scared me the most yet he thought it was his face."

"His temper is quite short." Madame Giry agreed. "He is very sensitive about his face and after the story I have told you you should understand why." Christine nodded. "He is afraid that whoever sees it will run away in fear and call him a monster. He appears very hard on the outside but that is just a cover. I have seen his hurt only a few times since that day at the fair and now you have too."

"You were speaking so harshly to him." Christine noted looking up at her sadly.

"I am the only one who is not afraid to." Madame Giry responded. "And there are some things that he needs to hear. Because he has lived down there for most of his life he is much like a child. He needs to be told what he is doing wrong and he needs to be scolded. He knows I am only doing it out of love."

"Do you love him?" Christine inquired.

"He is very much like a brother to me. I care for him deeply. Sometimes he has a hard time believing that but it is true."

They stopped in front of what appeared to be a glass wall. But through the wall she could see the inside of her dressing room. Madame Giry handed her the candelabra and pushed open the glass wall to reveal her dressing room. She suddenly remembered the first time the phantom took her down into his lair. She remembered seeing him in the mirror and then stepping through the mirror. She realized then that the mirror had been moved aside for her to step through.

As soon as she stepped out of the dark passageway and into her dressing room she felt like she had stepped into another world. Her dressing room was so full of light and color where as the phantom's lair was so dark.

"I will escort you to your bed chamber." Madame Giry told her, taking the candelabra back from her, extinguishing the flame and placing it down. "You look exhausted my dear. I will keep the vicomte away until morning."

Raoul. Yes, that would be wise. She couldn't deal with his questions and accusations. He would surely blame the phantom and she couldn't explain what had really happened. Raoul wouldn't understand.

Christine followed Madame Giry to her bed chamber and was silent the whole way. Her thoughts were consumed with everything Madame Giry had told her about her mysterious angel.

"Get some sleep Christine." Madame Giry said once they had reached her room. "You have had a long night and you deserve a good rest." Madame Giry squeezed her hand gently and went to turn around to leave.

But she had a question that couldn't be left unanswered. "Madame Giry." She called out to her. Madame Giry paused in the open doorway and looked at her expectantly.

"I heard you call him a name. Erik?"

Madame Giry nodded once. "Yes."

"Is that his name?"

She nodded again. "It is. Goodnight Christine."

"Goodnight Madame." Christine wished and Madame Giry left the room closing the door behind her.

Christine let out a breath and sat down on her bed. Erik. With every little detail she learned he seemed more and more human. And know she knew his name.

Erik.

She didn't have to call him Angel anymore. And where she would always think of him as her Angel, he wasn't an Angel. He was a man and as a man he deserved to be called by his name.

Erik.

She loved the name. And it suited him perfectly. It was a strong yet peaceful name.

She settled down into her bed, rested her head on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. She closed her eyes eventually and imagined him singing to her like he used to do when she was a child. Only now she had a face to match the voice.

"Goodnight Erik." She whispered to the air and slowly drifted off to sleep.

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